


I Hate Guns

by DelwynCole



Category: Burn Notice, Leverage
Genre: Community: comment_fic, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-24
Updated: 2012-12-24
Packaged: 2017-11-22 07:48:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 563
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/607515
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DelwynCole/pseuds/DelwynCole
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Just a tiny little comment thing I did that I always thought was going to work it's way into a full story, but never has, so I'm letting it loose here. Maybe more at a later date. Written for the comment_fic prompt <a href="http://comment-fic.livejournal.com/131286.html?thread=28314326#t28314326">here</a></p>
            </blockquote>





	I Hate Guns

"Are you here for me?" Michael says in a soft, uninterested tone, as if he's not holding a gun to a man's head.

The body in front of him moves, lightning fast. Duck, spin, grab. "You always did like things a little too up close and personal." Eliot has successfully disarmed Michael, or at least taken away this gun, but he's managed to get himself locked into a pretty effective hold in the process.

"And you always were predictable with that spin move." Michael's grip tightens. "Are you here for me?" There's a cold edge to the voice now, not just the normal paranoia of a spy, but a different wariness born out of betrayal and rage.

"In a manner of speaking." Eliot says, soft and honey sweet, almost as if he has to counter Michael's tone with his own. "I'm not here to kill you, Michael."

Twist and shove, and they're apart again. Eliot keeps his distance. Michael's fingers twitch in the direction of his gun, but he leaves it on the floor where it fell.

"I'm not. I was offered that contract, but I turned it down."

Michael smirks. "Didn't think you could deliver?"

Eliot gives him a dark look in reply. "I don't kill my own."

"They tell you why I got burned?"

Eliot shrugs. "Showed me a file. If I'd believed you'd done any of it, you'd be dead by now. You're not that man."

Michael smiles then, and a little of the wariness leaves his posture. "Been a while."

"Yeah, not since that thing in Venezuela with the running."

"And the guns."

"I hate guns." There's real distaste in Eliot's voice as he says the words.

Michael laughs, and goes to his fridge, picking up the gun and laying it on the table as he does so.

He pulls a couple of beers out and hands one to Eliot. "I know you do." They drink in companionable silence for a moment, sitting side by side on the stacked mattresses that Michael calls a bed.

"So, if you aren't here to kill me, but you are here for me..."

Eliot ducks his head a bit, lets his hair fall forward to hide his face. It's the only gesture of nervousness that Michael has ever seen from him. He's always found it almost charming.

"I'm kinda working with a team these days. Nothing official, we just...we take care of things that the law can't or won't deal with. We've got a job, here in Miami. I heard you do some of the same sort of thing, and I thought maybe we could help each other out."

"I thought you worked alone."

"Things change, Michael." Eliot says, but he's still hiding behind that curtain of hair.

There's a spark between them, and Michael has felt it before. He hasn't had nearly enough beer to blame it on this time, but Michael can't resist the urge to push that hair back, out of Eliot's face. His hands remember this, remember the delicate planes of this man's cheekbones and jawline. His body remembers the inevitable slide forward into a kiss that is always softer than he expects it to be.

This isn't the time and he knows it, but he lets the kiss linger longer than he should. His voice is rough around the edges when he finally pulls away. "Tell me."


End file.
